


A Handmade Bouquet, Just For You

by finalfartasyfifteen (remedyrogue)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: As it should be, Everybody Loves Prompto, Everyone Needs A Hug, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mama Ignis Scientia, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Prompto Argentum-centric, Sad and Happy, Sick Prompto Argentum, my poor baby, no beta we die like men, this is literally just depressing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-04-08 00:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14093316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remedyrogue/pseuds/finalfartasyfifteen
Summary: He couldn't - no, cant - make his love blossom, and now it was blossoming in his chest as punishment.How cruel it is that the things Prompto loves will be the death of him.





	1. Chapter 1

Flowers were always a thing that Prompto genuinely enjoyed. Whether it was from a street vendor in the Crown City or picked from the dirt, they made him happy. He would sometimes create flower crowns to ease tension, and wear them with all the joy in the world. The rest of the guys would poke fun at it, but Prompto wouldn’t listen to them. He had always admired the gentle beauty of a flower, whether they were cut and wrapped for a lover, or wild and free in the sun.

However, life quickly made to hate them in their entirety. It was one night, when everyone was asleep. He had sat up, coughing hysterically. His chest ached with pain, sharp and intense. When the petal landed on his bed, everyone in the room was awake, staring at it with confused faces.

That was around four or five days ago. Now, they have to tend to Prompto 24/7. He's now heaving whole flowers from his chest. They're only small flowers, and Prompto thanks the Gods for that.

Prompto watches from his bed as Ignis inspects one in a gloved hand. They're small enough for him to fit quite a few of them in his palm. The one he holds is a soft pink, the pointed petals catch the light in a pleasant manor.

"I recognize this flower, but I could never remember the name of them," Ignis muses.

Prompto looks at him, hoping his eyes can do most of the communication - its been three days since he was able to talk. He coughs again, and more petals flutter down, scattering across the bed. One would think someone decorated the bed for Valentine's Day. A voice in the back of Prompto's head laughs at him.

After a few moment of silence, Ignis sets a cup of tea next to Prompto, adding a tasteless powder of vitamins to it. He couldn't stop the flowers long enough to eat a full meal. Ignis had figured out a way to get him a full meal without actually making him eat. Prompto thanks the Gods for that, even now. He had been certain he was gonna starve before they would have figured out what the hell was going on.

"I believed I found the cause of this predicament," Ignis says, sitting on the bed he had restricted Prompto to. "It's called many different things, but the primary name is _Hanahaki,_ or flower vomiting. It stems from unrequited love."

Prompto almost chokes, and then he actually chokes as two whole flowers fall onto the bed. Ignis says nothing, but starts rubbing Prompto's back as he coughs. Once Prompto stops, he drinks some tea. The stabbing pain in his chest intensifies everytime he sucks a breath in through his nose. One-sided love made no sense, since Prompto wasn't in-

_Oh._ Prompto understands now. He had made peace with the fact that life could be cruel to him long ago, but this is a new low. He feels a familiar sting in his cheeks and eyes as his eyes water.

"It's cured two ways. The love must either be reciprocated, or the flowers are removed from the lungs. If the flowers are removed, the ability to love anyone is removed as well. If it is not cured, the victim dies."

The tears finally spill over his eyes, free flowing down his cheeks. Another coughing fit starts, and its worse this time. The pain rips through his chest, almost unbearable. Petals and flowers alike scatter across his lap and the bed. They're bright pinks and yellows, pure whites and blues. It looks like a photo shoot, the voice in his head tells him, and he laughs without emotion in his head.

"The flowers themselves should give us an indication of who it is, whether it be in colour or the species. Once the flowers become black and nothing else, you have three days until then," Ignis finishes. He looks at Prompto, who is still crying, "Do you know who it could be?"

Prompto shakes his head. He's completely lying right now, but his mind tells him he has no choice. It seems cruel, but he accepted the fact that his life was over the moment the first pink petal fell from his mouth.

"I'll have to ask around about the flowers," Ignis thinks out loud to himself. He turns to Prompto, "Would you like me to send Noctis in?"

Prompto thinks for a moment, then nods. He needs a good game of King's Knight to get his mind off his goddamn death sentence.

Ignis leaves, and a few seconds later, Noctis slides in the door. There's dark indentations underneath his eyes from lack of sleep. He's got a shit-eating grin on his face, wiggling his phone around.

"Ready to get your ass kicked in King's Knight?"

Prompto grabs his tea and sips it, then smirks. He shakes his head, pointing to Noctis.

"Oh, you're gonna kick my ass, huh? We'll see about that!"

\-----

Prompto likes when Noctis comes in and plays video games with him. It's nice when he's distracted, and not writing a eulogy for himself in his head. Now, though, is awful, because the other guys are in a room separate from his. They got him his own room, with a big, comfortable bed. He wonders in the back of his head if they do this for patients in a hospital; make them comfortable as they waste away.

They tried their best, but this bed wasn't comfortable and he doesn't sleep well anymore. He's awake every thirty minutes or so, coughing up bouquets and sweeping them into a bucket by his bed. His lungs are drowning in the prettiest colours he's ever seen. Once the colour drains from the flowers, the life will drain from his body as well. He couldn't - no, cant - make his love blossom, and now it was blossoming in his chest as punishment.

He lays down, wheezing. A voice tells him he won't make it to see the sun rise, and a few knocks comes from the front door. He leans over and throws some weird knick-knack at the door, signaling that it was okay to come in.

Prompto's surprised to see Gladiolus slip in through the door, shutting it behind him with his foot. He's carrying books in his arms, no doubt whatever weird novel he was reading. It's the first time he's actually been here since the first incident. He's heard mentions of him here and there from Ignis and Noctis, but this seems... different.

"Thought you'd might need company, and the other two are out like lights," He says, voice soft. He places two of the books on the small table on the opposite side of the room. Prompto sips the now ice cold tea as Gladiolus drags a chair next to the bed, right by the bucket. He sets the knick-knack he picked up from earlier on the bedside table, by the teacup and saucer, "If you need me, tap me."

Prompto nods, and Gladiolus opens the book to a page marked by a scrap of paper, and quickly gets absorbed in it. Prompto finishes off the tea (finally), and his stomach no longer twists with hunger pangs.

He starts coughing again, but the petals are different. It is no longer bright, lively colours killing him.

The small flower in his hand is jet black.


	2. Chapter 2

Prompto hears Ignis explaining the situation to Gladiolus and Noctis, but it sounds far away. He's been staring at the flower in his hand, unmoving, for almost an hour.

He had made his peace that this disease would kill him, yes. But, the reality of it hadn't totally hit Prompto until now, and it hits him like a train.

_This was going to kill him in three days._

Three days, and his body would be lifeless. Three days, and people would be standing at a podium, talking about how he brightened their lives. He makes a note in his head to have no flowers there. Its cruel to have the cause of his death at a ceremony celebrating his life. Prompto thinks it's a pathetic way to die. He was hoping he would go down swingin', not withering away with a flower shop choking him because of something out of his control. His life is in someone else's hands, and in three days they would crush it into dust.

The front door shuts, and he isn't aware of who left. He begins to cough again, but this time it's violent. Now, he feels stems and roots poking at him from inside his body. It's a fiery, piercing pain that shoots through his body as jet black flowers fall gently into his open hands. He begins to shake, and he looks up to his friends for comfort. His crying eyes greet an empty room instead. He hears muffled yelling outside of his door. He figures that his friends had taken to arguing outside of the room. He wonders if they can hear him dying.

He dumps the remains of his illness into the bucket by his bed. He looks down at it, and the dark black looks comical amongst the bright colours of the other flowers.

Ignis is the only person to walk back into his room, shutting the door behind him, "Apologies. It's saddening that they can't keep their fucking bickering about this to a minimum," Ignis says. His voice is calm, but Prompto can tell he's furious with them. He makes tea again, straightening up the room. He makes idle chatter that fills the room with a pleasant air. Prompto nods along with it, the pain only a dull ache when he breathes in. A saucer with tea is set in his hands, and Prompto nods a thank you as he sips it.

"Enough about all that," Ignis says, sitting down in the chair with a huge glass of wine and a sigh. "How are you doing?"

Prompto isn't capable of actually giving an answer to that, but Ignis has always been good at charades. Prompto shakes his head, then hovers a tightened fist over his chest.

"I'd assume it hurts, yes," Ignis says, then takes a large mouthful of wine.

Prompto starts coughing again, and he shifts. It lets out air from underneath the blankets, and both men in the room are aware that he hasn't showered in a week.

"Do you think you could stand long enough to shower?" Ignis asks. Prompto thinks for a moment, then nods, "Splendid. I'll change the bedding in the meantime."

Prompto gives him a thumbs up, and stands on shaky legs. He holds onto the wall, his hand trailing along it as he makes his way to the duffel bag containing his clothes. He grabs the first few articles of clothing his hands find that don't stink, and he makes his way to the bathroom.

\-----

Prompto stumbles out of the bathroom, hand on the wall for stability. His hair is wet and clinging to his face, and he pushes it out of his eyes. He's clad in a fresh t-shirt that's too big for him and boxer-briefs with cartoon chocobos dancing on them. Ignis helps him back into bed, and the fresh smell of the sheets sends Prompto into cloud nine.

"That's better I hope?" Prompto nods wildly, and Ignis' face breaks into a small smile, "You should try to get some sleep," He says softly. Prompto nods, wiggling around to find a comfortable position.

He watches Ignis walk to the kitchen table, towards the forgotten glass of wine. He drinks the rest of the wine in the glass, slamming the glass down, "If you'll excuse me, I have some... _children_ to talk to."

Ignis leaves, shutting the door with a gentle click. Prompto can hear him barge into the neighboring room. For the first time, Prompto's glad he has a seperate room.

He spits out a few more petals, and rolls over to attempt to sleep.

\-----

When he wakes up, it's still dark, and he sighs. According to the digital clock on the counter across the room, he only slept 25 minutes.

"I was wondering when you'd be awake," Ignis says, sipping white wine from a glass, "You slept all day and then some."

He had three days to live and he slept one of them away. He wants to hit himself, but instead he coughs up more jet black flowers. Blood falls into his hands with the flowers and a jab of pain radiates from his somewhere in his chest. Prompto accepts that as punishment enough for his stupidity. Hunger pulls at his stomach, and he drinks the lukewarm tea from the bedside table without a breath. It fills his stomach quick, and he takes large, painful breaths.

Prompto looks at Ignis seated across the room, and the advisor is barely keeping awake.

"I suppose I should sleep. Someone will arrive in my place," Ignis says. His pace is quick as he leaves, like being with Prompto any longer is going to rip him to shreds. He looks down at his hands and arms, and the door opens again. They're covered in small spots of blood. His skin tone is paler than its ever been, which makes the freckles dotting his skin stand out more.

_"Astrals."_

Prompto doesn't have strength to look up at the voice. He keeps his head down, and sees a large hand with a wet paper towel wipe blood from his arms. It reaches to his face, and he moves his head up to see Gladiolus' face twisted up in worry. He sees Noctis sitting at the table across the room. He's looking through a mountain of papers Prompto swears wasn't there when Ignis left. He sits there, motionless as Gladiolus wipes blood from his chin and mouth.

"You okay?"

Prompto doesn't respond. He feels too tired to exist, funny enough. A voice at the back of his head tells him to sleep, and then the pain will go away. He wants to listen, but he feels himself being propped up by pillows, so that he's sitting up.

He coughs up multiple flowers onto the bed, but one is bright pink, and it stands out amongst the black. Gladiolus throws away the paper towel, and idly takes the pink one in his hand.

"Is this the flower you've been coughing up?" Gladiolus asks. Prompto uses his energy to nod, looking at him. He's got a haunted look in his eyes as he stares down at the small flower made even smaller by his large hands. It looks prettier in his hands, and he wonders whether he should ask Noctis to take a picture of it.

"I know this flower," He says, and Prompto sees Noctis perk up in the background.

There's a large pause of him processing what he's seeing, and Noctis speaks up, "Care to share with the rest of us?"

Prompto's heart drops into his stomach. Gladiolus' voice sounds like a child when he answers.

"It's the flower I was named after."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops it got worse :///


	3. Chapter 3

Prompto had fallen asleep immediately after all the pieces fell into place. He wasn't sure what had happened after he fell asleep, and nobody filled him in. He assumes it’s better that way.

He wakes up, and the sun is shining bright through the open window to his right. A gentle breeze is whistling through the room, and the atmosphere is pleasant. The scent of fresh cut grass flows through the room via the open window. There's friendly chatter between the other people in the room, too.

All his friends are here with him. Some are talking amongst each other, drinking recreationally (or to cope, Prompto isn't sure). Some others are filling in Prompto on their stories of the world. He listens with all the enthusiasm his failing body can muster.

"It's a shame that something so terrible would happen to such a bright man," Prompto recognizes the voice as Cor, and it catches him off guard.

"Beautiful tragedy indeed," Ignis replies.

"Kid's got strength, I'll give him that," Prompto almost jumps out of his skin as Aranea climbs in through the open window, mumbling about a locked door. She sits on the bed by his feet and gives them a light punch, and Prompto's grateful she's here.

Noctis and Iris are actually in bed with him. They're both laying on top of the comforter, playing King's Knight together. One of them would ask him how they should go about doing something, and he'd answer. He uses the new rules Ignis came up with so he'd save his energy - one blink for yes, two for no. It's working well, and Prompto was actually enjoying his last day.

Right. His last day alive. By now, he's definitely made his peace that Gladiolus - both the flower and the man - stamped his death sentence. He hopes the flowers will be prettier than anything one could plant, at least (they better be, with how much pain he's in).

Something's missing though, or rather, someone. Prompto pushes his sore body to move, and his muscles scream at him to stop. He pulls the pink flower from yesterday out of the discard bucket and point to it in question.

"We're not sure where he is," Ignis says, looking down at Prompto with a sad expression.

"Coward left after he figured it out," Noctis' tone is corrosive, and it burns a hole in Prompto's already aching chest. "You deserved better, dude."

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Noct," Ignis says, nodding softly. His muscles are tense, and Prompto looks around and realizes everyone in the room is tense.

"Poor sonuvabitch. Ya really did deserve better than that lump of crap," A heavy accent says, and good grief, even Cindy's here? She walks over and places a kiss on Prompto's forehead, and a soft warmth spreads through his chest. It dulls the pain coursing through out his body for a few moments, and he relishes in it.

"He's nice to look at, but a chocobo must've taken a shit inside his head-"

Prompto shoves Aranea with his foot, and pain shoots up his leg as punishment. He doesn't wanna hear all the insults today. They all want to be disrespectful to someone who Prompto not only still cares about, but who isn't even in the room to defend himself? Well, they would have to do that somewhere else. Everyone goes silent with unsaid words, and he motions to the drink on the table with his head.

Iris grabs the drink and holds it up high enough for him to drink through the straw. It's very fruity, and he's grateful it gives him strength. He realizes there's gentle music playing from a radio on the kitchen table, and he closes his eyes softly. Sure, he’s still angry at whatever God pulled the strings for his life, but he’s at least glad his friends are here with him.

Well, most of them.

Prompto's finally got enough strength to nod and hug each friend from the bed he's sitting on. They all cry as they say goodbye, and he does to. They eventually leave for their hotel rooms close by.

"I tapped into the royal funds to get everyone here," Noctis admits, still sitting in bed with him. Prompto taps his shoulder with his own head as a signal of thanks. Noctis fluffs his hair up with one hand, "No need to thank me."

"We might've said goodbye, but we're not going anywhere," Ignis says, smiling softly. Prompto nods, sipping on the drink that he was told earlier was a protein smoothie.

Prompto shakes his head, moving his hand towards the door.

"Do you want us to leave?"

Prompto nods. He doesn't want his friends to see him rot away. They could always retrieve his body in the morning, after all.

"Any... last requests?" Noctis asks, voice hoarse. Prompto nods, making a writing motion with his arms. He hopes Noctis will complete a bucket list on behalf of him.

Ignis rummages around for a pad and a pen, and he places it in front of Prompto. With Noctis' help, he writes a list on the motel pad of paper. His handwriting is shaky and almost illegible. His weak, delusional brain might've created gibberish phrases or spelled some things wrong. Either way, it's still something he's one hundred percent proud of. Some of the list is things they all should complete on his behalf, some of it is notes he wants them to know.

Once he's done, Noctis tears the paper off and hands it to Ignis. He draws a little smiley face on Prompto's arm, and it reminds Prompto how much weight he's lost. He starts to cough again, his chest spasming violently. He registers a hand rubbing his back as he hacks up a black flower, bigger than any of the others so far.

"I suppose we can make most of these happen," Ignis says, folding the list up and tucking it into a pocket gently.

Prompto nods, and he cant help but start to cry. He’s going to miss everyone.

_“Goodnight, Prompto.”_


	4. Chapter 4

Faster, faster, _faster!_

His legs had started to burn about a mile back (he wasn’t even sure if it had been a mile, but it sure as hell felt like one). He might have the blood of an innocent boy on his hands. The least he could do was push himself to exertion and then some. The boots pound on the pavement, crunch on the gravel, sink a little into the dirt still soaked with rainwater. The guilt pushes on his shoulders, ever present. He feels like he’s carrying a lead weight that shows his sins to everyone he passes.

He had managed to get a haven away from where his friends had been. Almost three fucking miles of wandering, trying to figure out what he should do. He had sure as hell figured out what he should not have done. Unfortunately, he had just so happened to go down that list without knowing, checking it off like a goddamn to do list.

He can smell the sweat off of his body, and his clothes are sticking to his body - he’ll have to peel them off later.

The only reason he’s even on the right track is due to muscle memory, his feet remembering the lay of the land. His brain is no help - phrases bounce around it wild, phrases like _flower_ and _faster._ Phrases like _love_ and _death._ He wishes his brain would default to static, so he didn’t have to think. Wishes he could just be there already so he could fix this like he should have done days ago.

The Gods don’t let him wish for such selfish things when he’s already taken so much, so he runs faster.

His feet hit the dirt again, far away from any haven. The flashlight attached to his clothes switches on automatically. The stream of light bounces wildly across the landscape as he runs. He hears a roar in the distance and sees a bright glow from a daemon reflect onto the ground.

He has no time for a last stand with something so unimportant, so he runs faster.

He recognizes lights, and they reflect off the Regalia parked there. There's two lights on, and he hopes everyone is still awake. He trips, almost falling face first onto cold asphalt.

There's a life on the line because of him, so he regains his balance quickly and runs faster.

He wonders if his friends will hate him after this, hate him for causing everyone so much pain when four words could have fixed it. His eyes start to sting, and so does the skin under his eyes.

The Gods don't allow him to be sad when he was the one to cause all the sadness, so he runs faster.

He gets to the door, almost slamming head first into it. He throws the door open, slamming it shut with his foot. Noctis and Ignis were definitely gonna hear that one. He sees the bed and lets out a noise that sounds like a strangled choke, regardless if the Gods allow him grievance or not.

Prompto is laying in the king sized bed, and his posture looks relaxed. He could be mistaken for sleeping, but Gladiolus knew better. The blond’s face was pale and sunken in, bags under his eyes the only colour amongst it. He had lost so much weight too - "skin and bones" was as literal as you could get. Prompto's also holding a bundle of Gladiolus flowers, more vibrant than the greenest of thumbs could tend to. Astrals, he looks like he's ready for his own funeral.

Gladiolus slides into the chair next to the bed, and the wind from the open window bites into his skin. It sinks teeth into his flesh as he grabs one of Prompto's tiny hands in both of his.

His hand was cold, unnaturally so. Gladiolus wonders if it was even worth it to say anything to him, but he couldn’t care. It had to get off his chest, or it was gonna dig into it and hollow him out.

“Look, I’m sorry for all this shit I caused. I just, I didn't," Gladiolus sighs. His brain is working faster than his mouth right now, so he takes a long breath to let his thoughts catch up to the rest of him, "I didn't know what to do, but I think I do now."

He tentatively leans over, placing a soft kiss on Prompto's motionless lips.

Nothing happens.

Gladiolus’ brain shuts down before the thought can finish. The room starts to spin, violently so. He breathes in deep, but his lung’s don’t take in any air. He looks around, but his eyes don’t take in any scenery. 

His brain refuses to say that one word, refuses to call Prompto that _one_ word, because there's no way it's true. His brain tells him to get angry, to fall back on that one emotion he knows all too well.

The screams of the silent air only serve to make him angrier. He stands, throwing the chair across the room, watching with mute satisfaction as the wood breaks apart against the wall. He turns fully away from the bed, running his hands over his face. 

Someone small has their arms wrapped around him suddenly, and he almost throws them, too. He's too tired and too full of guilt to fight a human being, so he hunches into their grasp like a child. He can feel the anger inside shrink and die, and he feels so small in his Prompto’s grip.

"It's okay big guy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap!
> 
> yall I'm so sorry for updating this so ridiculously late, and I have got no excuse for it. I'm not that happy with how this turned out, but I hope you guys are.
> 
> thanks to everyone who read and commented throughout this, and be sure to be on the lookout for some more wholesome stories of these boys


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